Guys, writing is hard. And rewriting is hard. But second rewriting is way harder. I'm having a really hard time working on the second rewrite of Chapter 1, even though I finally figured out how to fix it. Fixing is hard. But guys, it's also something else. I've written this chapter. I've rewritten this chapter. I've outlined it and changed the outline. I know this chapter better than the back of my hand. So redoing it AGAIN is making me dig my heels in and scrape my fingernails down the wall.
It hurts. And it's hard. But I'm gonna do it! I promise! One day you can all read the book. Granted that probably most people reading this either stumbled upon it randomly or are my mom. And she's already read the book. Hi mom. But one day.
This chapter hurts. Almost as bad as that time my friend almost broke my nose falling on me or my dog twisted my wrist running to my dad or I slipped on wet grass and bounced on my knees twice moving out of my first dorm.
I'm feeling so stressed out with family stuff and being responsible for taking care of my parents and my grandma and my dog. I've been having a lot of oxygen escaping the room moments. If you watched Pushing Daisies you know what I'm talking about. I feel like my life is flashing by and I'm not going to get to do the fun stuff. Right now my mental escape is a diner/bakery/barkery. Whenever I'm out and about in my town (this is the first time I've referred to it as my town not the town I live near) I see empty spaces, there are far too many empty spaces by the way, and I think 'My diner could go there.' To get overly psychoanalytic, I love providing joy to people and bringing it into people's lives. Food and baked goods and books provide that joy. So since I'm having all that trouble with the book, what's left is food and baked goods. But it's been well over a hundred almost every day for the last month in rural Missouri, and as such baking is out. Hell, cooking is almost out. But not fun cooking, it's whatever uses the least heat.
Also I've been feeling things even more strongly lately. I always do when I'm here because my stress levels are higher when I'm with my family than when I'm at school in DC with just my friends and my frat brothers. Sure, I have school there, and I'm still writing. But that's the kind of stress that gives me motivation. This kind of stress makes me want to curl up in a tiny little ball and cry.